Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe I need to find out who I am now. I’ve spent too much time trying to be the person her parents wanted her to be with. When I walked away from her, it felt like I didn’t have to walk on eggshells anymore, and it was a fucking relief.”
Justine smiles, and in the dim light of the bus, her eyes seem to hold answers to questions I haven’t even thought to ask.
“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, “I like the Quinn I’ve gotten to know these past few months.”
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate. I bump her shoulder lightly with mine. “Even brooding, emo Quinn?”
She laughs. “Especially him. The depth looks good on you.”
“Well, hopefully less brooding Quinn is also acceptable.”
“I suppose I can adapt,” she teases, leaning into me slightly.
We sit like that, shoulders touching, watching the night roll by. Eventually, her head tilts toward my shoulder, and her breathing deepens. I stay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I carefully reach for my notebook and open it to a blank page. The words come easily tonight.
In the quiet after storm, when lightning’s ceased to flash
When thunder’s distant memory, and rain has turned to mist
I find myself still standing, feet planted on the ground
Not broken, only weathered—somehow safer now than sound
I write until my eyes grow heavy, Justine’s warmth against my side a steady anchor in the rolling bus. For the first time in months, when sleep claims me, there are no ghosts waiting in my dreams.
The days blur together in the rhythm of the tour. Sound checks, performances, late nights on the bus. But now there are new patterns emerging. Justine seeking me out during downtime. Me saving the seat next to me when we go out to dinner. Small moments that seem insignificant but somehow add up to something neither of us can ignore.
Five days after Charleston, we stop for a rare full day off. The hotel has a small movie theater for guests, and Justine convinces me to watch some indie film that’s “supposedly brilliant but probably pretentious.”
We grab snacks from the vending machine and claim a row in the back. The movie is everything Justine predicted—artsy, slow-paced, occasionally beautiful. Halfway through, when I look over, her head is resting on her hand, her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted. There’s one thing I’ve learned in the past couple of days with Justine, she can fall asleep anywhere. Instead of letting her head do the whole bob thing where she’s either going to jolt herself awake or she’s going to fall over, I pull her toward my shoulder and let her use it as a pillow. The other night when she did this, I didn’t mind.
And I don’t mind now.
I don’t move until the credits roll, even though my arm has long since gone numb.
When she wakes, she blinks up at me in confusion before realization dawns on her face.
“Did I miss the ending?”
“Only the part where everyone died and it was all a dream,” I deadpan.
Her eyes widen before she catches the teasing in my expression. She swats my arm lightly. “Jerk!”
“You didn’t miss much,” I admit. “Just more artful staring and meaningful silences. I swear, every Robert Pattinson movie I’ve seen is weird.”
“Twilight wasn’t weird.”
My eyes widen. “You’re joking, right? He sparkled! In the sunlight!”
“You forgot about the music that played when the sun hit his skin.” Justine covers her mouth in a giggle.
I shake my head. “Even you agree.”
“Fine, yes. But honestly that’s how it is on the bus every night, artful staring and meaningful silences.”
“Accurate.” I laugh.
Back in the hotel lobby, we find Ajay and Dana playing a heated game of chess. Ajay looks up when we approach, his eyebrows lifting at our proximity. He’s refreshed after spending time with his family.
“Movie date?” he asks innocently.
“Just killing time,” I respond, ignoring the heat rising in my neck.
Dana studies us over the chessboard. “Uh-huh. And how was this not-date?”
“Boring,” Justine answers. “Quinn was the only thing keeping me awake.”
“I wasn’t doing a very good job of it,” I say. “You were out cold within thirty minutes.”
“You let me sleep on you for an hour?” Justine looks mortified.
“More like two,” I admit.
Dana and Ajay exchange knowing looks that I pretend not to see.
“I’m hitting the sack,” I tell them and head toward my room. Ajay falls into step beside me.
“So, you and Justine seem close.”
“We’re friends,” I say automatically.
“Right,” Ajay says, unconvinced. “I mean, Dana and I are friends too, but she doesn’t fall asleep on my shoulder.”
“She was tired. We’re all tired. Hendrix fell asleep taking a shit last week. Are him and the toilet in a relationship? If so, can I come up with their name? Something like LetDix or HenToi but said with a French accent.”